Pandora’s Box has my heart by Kisslyn Shermer
When I’m not around him, my hearts starts sinking. He’s my float.
He makes me feel like a fire, alive. He’s my gasoline but he’s the keeper who tames my flame. The only flame that burns, just for him.
High like the most dangerous drug, his eyes hypnotic as they shine and sparkle like clear blue oceans.
His arms feels like home. He makes me feel safe and I’ve never felt safe and that’s scary.
He makes me feel 100% and I ignore my life around him. He’s a star, I just don’t orbit around him but he’s big enough to burn me like the sun.
His voice makes my insides shake and crumble.
It melts like hot lava going down my throat into my stomach, hot travelling down to my groin and in that heat between my thighs react by pulsating and erupting like geysers.
His lips,soft and pulling me in.
I can never get enough of his lips, I always want more, just like his scent.
If his scent was alcohol I’d always be drunk.
He smells like cheap bourbon liquor and citrus.
I smell him on me as much as I taste him on me.
Sometimes I don’t want to wash so I can Savor his scent a little longer.
Just a little longer I keep telling myself.
I love his hands, lovely fingers that glide and dance over my body.
Skin raising touch against my melanin shield.
Cupping, grasping, pulling and smacking but I mostly love the squeezing of my throat as I lay down, guard lowered, insides hot, leaking.
He’s hot. His lustful, loving and desiring gaze traps me like a mouse helpless under the cats paws.
I look up to him. He kisses me, releases his hand from my neck and I exhale from deep pleasure and concerns of my kink.
He looks at me and he knows, by now I’m completely lost, totally smitten, submissive, in love, in deep shit.
By now we both know how much I want to be him.
I want to be him? Be one, because being by myself always feels lonely. Being one with him felt so good and so right.
I feel his warmth, as we collide and morph like clay and smoother than water.
The steam and harsh breathing as our voices sounds like music in an erotic choir.
I please him, that’s what matters, and when our eyes meet, in that moment we know.
“This is how we have each other”
In that moment, I have him.
All of him, as he me.
The only moment of complete vulnerability that he gives to me because I’ve earned it.
He owns me, in that moment he knows he possesses my heart my body and we forget that we never really have each other.
But I have him as long as he has me.
I’m scared and I’m waiting for the end to come when our jigsaw pieces don’t seem to go together, where we realize a lot of the pieces are missing and that we’re fitting a couple odd pieces and it works. We’re content, bitter.
I’m in love with him. But I’ll never have him.
He makes me colorful, he’s a splash of aquamarine and tangerine in my dark grey.
To me he’s poetry and I’m art and we’re both observers appreciating what we bring to each other. He’s a dark light. My ultraviolet.
Short wavelengths but carry a lot of energy.
I wish I met him sooner, I want to be his “eventually” Wishfully, dreaming.
I know, he has me, and I gave him my heart in a black box and I told him to not open it.
I hope he doesn’t open it,
It’s Pandora’s box.
